Today's Burning Question

I went to Colleen’s house after work last night. It was past midnight when I tip-toed upstairs. I found her pretty head on one pillow and a note on the other. It was a poem she’d written. A Love poem.

No one has ever written poetry for me before, Ms J. I’m flattered.

I’m more than flattered, actually. I’m astonished..

How can this woman love me so much for just being myself?

Can Love really be this easy?

***

Double Standard?

I hadn’t been at work three minutes yet when a co-worker approached me.

“Did you hear about numbnuts? I guess management has a different rule book than the one we use.”

I frowned and asked for an explanation.

“Everybody’s talking about it,” he said. “Apparently, it’s OK to run a red light if you’re management. Fuckwit’s back to work. So is the crew he was with. Nobody was disciplined. Different set of rules for management, eh?”

Rumours are endemic at work. Every day there’s something new. I’ll take this information with a grain of salt, Ms Journal. To be honest though, I wouldn’t be surprised if it were true. Management people tend to look after their own. And if this man got off without discipline, the engineer and conductor would escape unscathed as well.

There is no justice at work anymore. How very unfair it is that I should be held out of service for an entire month (fired for the last two weeks) and then be reinstated and paid only two weeks back time for the same rule violation. My conductor has never come back to work. The engineer who was operating my train that fateful day was dismissed as well. He was later brought back to work and demoted.

And now this ... this manager, can stand in the cab of a locomotive and allow the engineman to pass a red light and suffer no consequences whatsoever.

This may not be accurate. I will acknowledge that. As I said, rumours are rampant at work. And I may not know the whole story. But if this story is true, Ms J, it’s only one more reason to hate my employer, one more reason to be bitter and resentful. I'll try to smile, though. I'll try to carry on.

2103 days til retirement.

Tick, tick, tick.

***

Yesterday ... and Today

We went to see a play last night, Ms J. Colleen and I. Little Ivy spent the night at her grandparents house. It was a Neil Simon play – “Come Blow Your Horn.” It was really well done! A local theatre group produced it and performed it at a venue nearby. In the past couple of years, my friend Christine and I have seen two other plays done by that group. Both were dreadful. The shows were so poorly done in fact, we considered leaving at the intermission. We stayed though, and were thoroughly disappointed.

But not this time. Colleen and I both enjoyed this show. It seems this group has finally found some talent. I’m pleased, Ms J. I may consider auditioning for them one day if my work schedule improves.

---

I drove over to the Mazda dealer this morning after work, and spent an hour with a salesman there. I asked him lots of questions about my new car and he was very knowledgeable, very helpful. He told me my car is currently travelling by rail (CN, unfortunately) from the Port of Vancouver to Toronto. Once it arrives here, it’ll be stored in a compound at our massive train yard north of the city. From there, it’ll be loaded onto a truck and delivered to the dealership.

“It’s probably rolling across Saskatchewan right now,” he told me.

It’s probably sitting in a siding somewhere in B.C. waiting for a fresh crew willing to endure another twelve hours of punishment, I thought.

“How long does it take, typically,” I asked, “to get a car from Vancouver to Toronto?”

“About ten days, on average.”

What’s that, Ms J? About three hundred miles per day? That’s a twenty-four hour day, remember. Lovely. Take heart, fellow countrymen. And know that the railroad I work for is moving goods across our fair land at the express rate of about twelve miles per hour. I should be proud of this?

“Hopefully,” said the man behind the desk, “you’ll have your car by the end of the month.”

I was about to thank him for his time when he raised his hand and held his palm toward me.

“No promises, though.”

Sad, innit?

***

Faith Pays Off -- Again

I met a friend this morning at our local coffee shop. It's called "Birds and Beans." Good people. Friendly atmosphere. Fab coffee.

"So do you think you could have a look at my wiring?" I asked him. "I need to get the knob and tube circuits upgraded, and I've got until January to do it."

We drained our porcelain mugs and strolled off down the street to my house. I took him into the basement and stood there smiling hopefully as my friend explored the overhead wires between the floor joists. I followed him like a child as he moved from place to place, nodding here and frowning there.

"Is that all there is?" he asked finally.

I told him yes and watched as he examined his hands for dirt.

"There's not much, is there?"

"No," I said. "The inspector said there was five percent."

Larry smiled and nodded reassuringly.

"This is nothing, Dale. I can help you do this. I've got all the tools and materials I need at home. We'll decide on a day and we'll do it. No problem."

Larry goes to my church, Ms J. He's a licenced electrician. And he's Colleen's daddy.

Today, I'm thankful for friends. I'm thankful for friends I would not have met if I hadn't begun attending church. I'd never have met Colleen if I hadn't gone to church.

Today, I'm loving my Life. And I haven't written that in ... Well, that's the first time this year.

I love my Life, Ms J.

Because I have faith.

***

Insurance Inspection: Epiblogue

A while ago, an insurance man came over to inspect my house. I had recently changed insurance companies, hoping to save some money on my premiums. I'm sure I told you about it, Ms J. Remember? Anyway, the man came, interrupted our dinner, wandered about the house and made copious notes on a form he'd attached to a plastic clipboard. A letter arrived yesterday from the insurance company.

" ... and the home inspector advised the company that there is 5% knob and tube wiring in the basement. Western Assurance requires this knob and tube wiring to be replaced in order to continue to provide coverage on your home. Unfortunately, no insurance company will insure a home where they know there is knob and tube."

"Western Assurance gives you 90 days to have this completed. Please provide proof that the knob and tube has been replaced prior to January 19, 2008."

I have no idea how much this will cost, Ms J, but I'm sure it'll be hundreds of dollars. I have a few friends who know a bit about wiring. I'll ask one of them to have a look at it.

Funny, you know. If this had happened ten years ago, even five years ago, I'd have been livid. I'd have launched into a great tirade against insurance companies and banks and other bottom feeders and lower forms of Life. But today, I feel relatively calm about this. It'll get resolved somehow. Yes, it may cost a few dollars and provide some inconvenience, but it's not the end of the world.

My home contains some old, and potentially unsafe wiring. I'll get it replaced. I have three months to do it. All is and will be well. I have faith.

I really think Colleen is good for me.

***

Sunday Morning

The little girl slept at her cousin’s house on Saturday night, and Colleen spent the night here with me. We ate takeout food and watched movies until bedtime. It was good, Ms J. It was ... perfect.

On Sunday morning, we went to church together. I enjoy walking in the stillness of the morning. It was nice to have someone to walk to church with; even better because it was someone I care for. As we walked hand in hand, I thought of Meagan and of the sunny Sunday mornings when we walked together to church. It was years ago, but it seemed like yesterday.

I wonder if we’ll ever walk hand in hand again.

God, I miss that child.

***

Zoom zoom

I did it, Ms J.

I did it this afternoon.

My friend Bob and I.

We went to the Mazda dealer.

I'll pick up my new car in a fortnight.

Give or take.

Zoom zoom.

***

No, I Haven't. Not Yet.

I made the mistake on Friday of mentioning to the guys at work that I was thinking of buying a new car. They interrogated me all morning.

"So, did ya buy yer new car, Doc?"

"Yeah. Did you go back and get a little Mazda?"

The Truth, Ms J, is that I had hoped to go today and talk with the salesman. I had planned on it. But there were other things that needed my attention.

I cooked a turkey the other day. Colleen helped me make a stew from the leftovers. It was/is delicious, but I wanted to boil the carcass and make soup. So I did that today. And I've hired two ladies to clean my house. They'll be here on Wednesday and in need of cleaning supplies. I bought a little dust mop and other in sundry items for them. They'll need a key to my house as well, so I had a couple of spare keys cut. It's a friend's birthday on Saturday, so I bought her a card while I was out. Little things, Ms J. You know? Colleen accompanied me. We had lunch together and soon it was time to return to work. I never did get over to the Mazda dealer.

Maybe tomorrow.

Colleen tells me she plans to make a meatloaf for dinner tomorrow. I like meatloaf, Ms J. And I like Colleen, too.

Let's face it. They're both scrumptious!

***

Ophelia

Her name's not Ophelia, Ms J. It's Colleen. She's agreed to allow her name to be used here. Colleen is beautiful. She loves everything: People. Animals. Even plants. She can cook and sew and paint and sing and play the clarinet. She has a daughter who's seven. And adorable.

I'm falling in Love with Colleen.

***

Another Honda? No, I Don't Think So

I met Bob at Lakeshore Honda this morning. He walked toward me and stuck his hand out.

"Hey, Buddy," he said. "How ya doing? Long time no see."

We shared a laugh and a hand shake and turned toward the new Hondas parked in the lot. The sun shone on the new paint and shiny chrome. These cars were pristine. But I had some misgivings.

We stood together and peered into a side window and after a moment, Bob spoke.

"Do you like these Hondas?" he asked. "Honestly? 'Cuz I don't."

I'd been having some second thoughts about them myself, Ms J, and my friend only validated my feelings. I wrinkled my nose.

"I don't know, Robert J. I guess they're alright, but ..."

"But you like the look of the Mazda better, don't you? Hmmm?"

I turned toward him. His eyebrows were raised and he was nodding his head. His broad smile was evident behind his bushy beard.

"Yeah, Bobbo," I confessed. "I do prefer the Mazda. Do you think we ought to test drive the Civic anyway?"

"It's up to you, man. Doesn't matter to me. I don't see much point in test driving something you don't like, though."

I stared at him for a moment. Now I was nodding my head and smiling.

"Are we done here, then?" he asked.

"Yeah," I said. "Yeah, we're done."

"OK. No worries. I'll catch you later." And he turned to go.

I called after him.

"Bob?"

"Hmmm?"

"Thanks. I appreciate you meeting me here today, even if it was for nothing."

"It wasn't for nothing," he grinned. "I mighta just saved you from buying another car you don't like. Are you going back to see the Mazda guy?"

"I think so, yeah."

"Wait til Monday," said Bob. "You don't want to look too anxious. Wait til Monday and I'll go with you. A little moral support, eh? Keep you from doing the wrong thing."

I thought about what he'd said as I drove home. Bob's a good friend, Ms J. And that's one of the advantages of having friends who care.

They keep you from doing the wrong thing.

***

Aye CAR-rumba!

I've got new car fever, Ms J.

Remember when I first bought my little Honda? I liked it, but wished it was a bit sportier, a bit more posh. I met with a friend this morning, and after breakfast, we went to visit our local Mazda dealer. We test drove a brand new Mazda 3.

What an awesome car! Much nicer than my plain old Civic. My Civic has only two doors. The Mazda had four. My Civic has a standard transmission. The Mazda had an automatic, a four-speed automatic. And it can still be shifted manually if I prefer. Wicked cool! It has a massive glove compartment, four wheel disc brakes, more horsepower, power windows and door locks. I can order it in a dazzling blue, with alloy wheels and a power moon roof. It even comes with a special iPod adaptor so I can rock AND roll.

But I mustn't be too hasty. I mustn't allow myself to make a rash decision as I did when I bought the Honda. Tomorrow, Bob and I plan to visit a Honda dealer and test drive a new Civic. I like the look of the new Civics as well as the Mazdas, Ms J, and I want to make sure I can live with my decision after the fact.

Ooooohhhh, I feel like a kid on Christmas Eve!

***

Stuffing and Other Stuff

It's been a lovely weekend, Ms J. Things worked out brilliantly!

Mum's turkey dinner was planned for Sunday, not Saturday. As a result, I was happy to accept an invitation to Ophelia's family gathering here in Mimico on Saturday, and then attend the Pringle Thanksgiving celebration on Sunday. Ophelia and her daughter joined me. We even stopped in Georgetown on the way to collect Dan and Sarah.

The meal was superb, the company agreeable. The weather was cool and damp and foggy, but did nothing to dampen our spirits. Everyone got on well and brother Pat even offered a toast to the newest family members. I'm sure Sarah and Ophelia were honoured to have been so recognised. Dan and I both smiled our approval as we clinked our stemware. I wished so much that Meagan had been with us. That would have made it perfect. I didn't allow my regrets to spoil my family time, though.

Dad invited us, one at a time, to state one thing for which we were most thankful. The answer varied little from person to person: Family. Home. Kith and kin. When it came my turn, I answered without hesitation. "I'm thankful for Ophelia."

After dinner, Pat entertained us with a fireworks display in Dad's big back garden. It was exciting, Ms J. We all enjoyed it.

And I didn't even have to book sick to gain the time off work. It happened that I bid on (and was awarded) a temporary regular assignment that has weekends off. Today (Monday) is the official Thanksgiving holiday so I don't have to report for work until 4:40 tomorrow morning.

I wonder how my daughter is doing? More thoughts on that tomorrow. Happy Thanksgiving, Ms J.

***

Making the Right Choice

Mum's having a Thanksgiving dinner on Saturday. Nearly everyone will attend. Even my son Dan has expressed interest in going. It's one of the few times each year when we Pringles gather and catch up on what's new in our Lives. Obviously, there's something new in my Life this year. Someone actually. And she wants to come and meet my family.

Ordinarily, I'd say it was a good thing. A jolly good thing. But as it turns out, Ophelia has plans to attend another event on Saturday. She has tickets to see a stage play downtown with her daughter. They've been looking forward to it. The show is a matinée performance that won't be over until four o'clock. By the time they get home, and we drive up to Mt. Forest, it'll be seven o'clock. Dinner will be long over by then. The table will be cleared and the dishes all washed and put away. I had hoped to arrive around two and spend the afternoon visiting with siblings and parents and in-laws.

A week ago, we'd discussed it and Ophelia had expressed an interest in going. What wasn't discussed was the play and the fact that we'd arrive too late for dinner. It's a two hour drive to Mum and Dad's. In Truth, Ms J, I don't want to wait for her to get home from the theatre. I want to leave much earlier. And Dan wants to go earlier too.

I shared my feelings with her this afternoon via text messages from work.

"Let's discuss this later," she wrote. "In person."

I hope she won't be too disappointed, but I really think she ought to enjoy a Thanksgiving dinner with her own family this time. There will be so many of us at Mum's, that I'm afraid she'll be overwhelmed. And the simple Truth is, I don't want to wait until the day is almost done before setting out.

I'm flattered she wants to meet my family, Ms Journal. But there will be other opportunities. We can drive to MF another time, perhaps when things will be a little less hectic. We can visit my brother and sisters separately. I'm sure everyone will enjoy getting to know her one on one without all the hubbub of a large family gathering.

I hope she understands. I hope I'm making the right choice.

Oh, and I hope I get to see my Meagan while I'm there.

***

Thanksgiving Plans?

Dan and I exchanged text messages this morning.

“Hi Dad. What are your plans for Thanksgiving? Sarah’s going to her parents.”

“Morning, Dan. I hope to go to Grandma’s house on Saturday. I’m not sure if I can get the day off work, but if I go, wanna come?”

“Yes. I don’t want to be alone on Thanksgiving. It’s depressing.”

“My new girlfriend might come too. Is that OK?”

“Sure Dad. That’s fine.”

“OK. I’ll have more details later. I really don’t know if I’ll be going for sure, though. But I'm HOPING. Can I let you know last minute? Saturday morning?”

“Yup. No problem. I love you dad.”

“I love you too, Dan. Bye!”

“Bye.”

I cannot think of a way to have the day off without booking sick. And if I do that, I may be disciplined. We’ll see. Wait and see, Ms J.

Have I mentioned how I abhor the new management on the railroad?

***

Buffalo

I did it, Ms J. I went to Buffalo. Buffalo, New York. On a train. I've managed to avoid it for ... well, for fifteen years or so, but they finally caught me. Let me explain.

I'm a locomotive engineer. I drive trains for a living. For many years, I've operated only commuter trains, but last year my company abolished many commuter train jobs and I found myself once again operating freight trains. It was difficult and at first, very stressful. Freight trains are much different to operate than passenger trains. Passenger trains respond almost instantaneously to brake and throttle inputs, but freight trains are MUCH longer, MUCH heavier and seem to take forever to stop. It was stressful enough here at home where I'm familiar with the rules and territory, but in a foreign country ... well, let's just say I and many others avoid it as best we can.

It's only 128 miles from our freight yard here in Toronto to the main freight facility in Buffalo, but trips there routinely take 12 hours in each direction. Slow track, and waiting for other trains ahead are the major causes of delay. Railroad management (on both sides of the border) have no regard for personal comfort, and expect crews to come to work prepared to spend twelve hours in the confined space of a locomotive cab. And at the first sign of a rule violation, U.S. railways require drug and alcohol testing. Slowly, we're adopting that policy here. Shoot first. Ask questions later. Guilty until proven innocent. It seems we can't adopt American ideas fast enough up here. I resent it and resist it with every fibre of my being.

I was just about to sit down to dinner with ... She won't allow me to use her name, Ms J, until our relationship is common knowledge among our friends and acquaintances. I don't know how long that will take, but I must honour her request. I'll call her Ohfeelya Ophelia.

Ophelia and I were here on Saturday afternoon when the phone rang. It was the crew office.

"Yeah, Dale, we need you to rescue train 333. There was a pedestrian fatality and the crew's been relieved. The train's at Grimsby."

I looked at Ophelia and my disappointment showed. The voice continued in the phone.

"You'll be taxi-ing from Mac Yard to Grimsby and taking the train on to Buffalo."

And so it was. With only two hours notice, I was forced to prepare for a trip to the States, a trip that could last 36 hours in total. It all started with a death, a pedestrian fatality. What an inauspicious beginning!

Things were a bit hectic at times, Ms J, but it turned out well. I requested a pilot engineer to help me find my way into Buffalo and they sent me a man from Niagara Falls. Dave was his name. Great guy. Very helpful. I was grateful because the conductor I worked with had less than two weeks experience.

I've discussed new employees here, Ms J. Teddy bears. Useless, really, most times. This fellow did the best he could, though and it wasn't too bad. He was a pleasant sort and we got on well together. Still, I was glad to have a pilot. Dave really knows his way around down there.

Railway tracks are often found in undesirable neighbourhoods and Buffalo was no exception. The difference was the rampant urban decay and the threat of violence. Dave cautioned me against leaving the locomotive for any reason. I was shocked.

"Especially at night," he said. "If, for some reason you have to go outside, call the railway police. They'll accompany you. It's not safe out there alone. And keep the doors and windows locked around here."

Home of the free? I think not.

We saw streets where many houses had been simply abandonned. Cars with broken windows were left on the street. I wondered how long they'd been there. Some houses had been burned and I asked Dave why there were so many fires. He shrugged his shoulders.

"I dunno. I guess maybe the owners were hoping to collect on insurance policies."

I felt sad, Ms J. How does it happen that an entire neighbourhood falls to ruin this way? Can it happen here? Will it happen here? I saw factories that looked as though they'd been bombed. Burned. Windows smashed. Brick walls collapsing. Why doesn't the city demolish these buildings? Aren't they unsafe? Children might play in them and be injured. If there were any children.

Eventually, we arrived at the yard and put our train away. It was five a.m. A taxi took us to a hotel near the airport where the noise of jet aircraft kept me awake until it was time to go back to work. A 7700 foot freight train waited to be taken to Toronto. Oakville, actually. The trip home took eleven hours.

I arrived at Ophelia's house around midnight last night. We didn't get much sleep. She threw me out this morning so she could go to work and now I'm home. I think I'll crawl into my own bed, Ms J, and ...

Oh lovely. Jimmy's awake and barking.

***